Slaves Of The Empire {1}

Thirty-Six | Out of the Frying Pan

"I'm doing this all wrong. Let me rephrase." Lux grabbed her hand before it could fall back to her side and sketched a flawless bow. He kissed her knuckles softly, more breath than lip, and she shivered. "You look beautiful, and I'm delighted that a small part of that comes from what our clothing has in common."

Ahsoka flushed darker. Lux beamed.

"You're sure in fine spirits this evening," she managed after a moment. Whatever walls he'd been trying to keep around himself, Lux hadn't taken the heat of the city into account. He didn't have enough willpower to maintain them without constant watch, and since she'd joined in on his outfit evaluation yesterday, he'd definitely been too busy to mind how he spoke to her.

It made her feel ten times better about going into this than she would have with a virtual stranger on her arm. But she still didn't know why he'd locked himself  up in his icy fortress the first place. She certainly hadn't been brave enough to ask him, and that worried her. Before that stupid kiss in the jungle, she would've been.

Maybe after Lux got back from Alderaan, things would be better. Maybe then, she could put him to Ludda's test, and they could have what they once had again.

"Mission, mission, mission," she hissed, shaking her head. Her attachment to him was getting out of hand. He was a good friend, but the only reason she should be interested in testing him was to evaluate his potential as an ally to the Rebellion.

"Pardon?"

In a flash, Ahsoka realized Lux had answered her. Her mumbling must've sounded like some kind of reply. "Oh, that was just me, uh... cursing my lack of concentration tonight," she blurted. "I zoned out for that last part."

"I said I hope you haven't forgotten that I asked for a–"

The front door of Lux's suite slid open, and a pair of heavy boots punched an angry, staccato beat into the marble. "Aluxsidrian? Gods above, what is taking you so kriffing long? Aluxsidrian!"

Lux's smile drained off his face, and up sprang the walls of ice. Ahsoka started toward him (to shield him or console him, she didn't know), but Zakhan Noreino tore through the 'fresher door before she could get close. And he was livid.

Lux crossed his arms behind his back as though standing at attention, hands hidden by his cape in the picture of respect and subservience. But even as Ahsoka bowed low, hoping to gloss over any faux-pas Zakhan might still remember from the auction with a veneer of servility, she couldn't miss the defiant cant of Lux's brow as he inclined his head in greeting.

"Insolent boy, you were supposed to make your entrance in the Great Hall ten minutes ago! I demand an ex–" Then, for the first time, he actually saw Lux through his fury. Somehow, impossibly, his anger ticked up another notch, and he clenched a fistful of Lux's rich mauve cape in whitened knuckles. "What in the gods' names are. You. Wearing."

"Oh, this old thing? I found it while I was deciding on my attire for the gala," Lux said innocently. "Mother always loved the midsummer festivities, and I feel like I'm taking a piece of her back into high society with me in wearing it. It's fitting, no?"

At that, Lux looked outright smug, and for the second time in four days Ahsoka was painfully aware that some secret message in the nobility's clothing choices was flying over her head. She'd have to pay better attention now that she was back in Kyzeron. It was starting to feel a little ridiculous.

For a few long seconds, father and son waged a battle of silent glares and twisted lips; behind them, Dakharen and the guards shifted uneasily. Then, finally, Zakhan shifted his grip to Lux's shoulder and half-pushed, half-threw him toward the door. "Confound it, there's no time anymore for you to change. Get moving."